The Captain Claim

One

LILA

The arena exploded the second the puck hit the net.

I exploded with it.

"Yes!" I screamed, grabbing the shoulder of the stranger beside me because I needed to hold onto something, needed to anchor myself to the moment, or it would float away before I could fully feel it. My throat burned. My cheeks hurt from smiling. I didn't care. It was over a year of watching my fiancé Ethan bleed for this team, of pre-game suppers I cooked in silence while he stress-paced the kitchen, a year of plenty canceled plans and guilt-edged apologies — and they had done it.

Silvercrest was champion.

The buzzer blared, and the team surged onto the ice. I watched Ethan pull his helmet off mid-slide, laughing, his breath clouding in the cold air, and his loose curly hair plastered to his forehead.

That laugh.

The full one he only ever let out when something enormous happened, when something cracked him open. I hadn't seen it in months, not properly, not the way it looked right now, wild and unguarded.

I had been telling myself it was the pressure. The season. The stress.

I had been telling myself a lot of things.

I was late getting here, which had eaten at me the whole drive over. I'd had to race out of the office with half my files still open on my screen, then double back to the jewelry shop to pick up Trisha's birthday bracelet — the gold one with the tiny floating diamonds I'd been paying off in installments since January. Her twentieth birthday was tomorrow, and I had not been about to show up empty-handed, no matter how badly the clock worked against me. The bracelet was still in my bag, velvet box and all, pressing against my ribs like a small, expensive heartbeat.

But I had made it. I was here, and they had won, and everything that had felt cold between Ethan and me for the past few months — the short answers, the way his eyes slid past mine when I asked about us — I let myself believe it was about to thaw. The season was over. The pressure was gone. We could finally go back to being us.

Then the jumbotron flickered.

I looked up, expecting a replay of the goal.

What I got instead made my stomach drop straight through the floor.

SILVERCREST'S POWER COUPLE.

The letters were bold, celebratory, framed in blue and white. The camera swept the ice, then cut to the stands — to a section two rows over from where I stood — and I saw her before my brain could stop me.

Trisha.

My sister stood under the arena lights like she had been placed there deliberately, golden hair catching every beam, smiling the way she smiled when she knew a camera was on her. She was wearing Silvercrest colors. She had never cared about hockey a day in her life. But she did like to cheer.

Still… no one really cared much for the cheerleaders. So why was she…

Before I knew it, Ethan skated toward the boards. Toward her section.

The crowd around me started screaming. People were hugging strangers. Someone's beer grazed my elbow, and I didn't move.

My mouth went dry as the jumbotron tracked him, and the commentator's voice punched through the noise.

"Oh, just look at them — you wish that were you, huh?"

Ethan reached over the barrier.

And he… He kissed her.

It was not a peck. Not a fumbled, adrenaline-drunk mistake. He kissed her the way you kissed someone when the cameras were there, and you wanted everyone to see because you were f*****g proud enough to show off. He literally had one gloved hand at her jaw while her hands rose to grip his jersey like she had done before. No… like she had done it many times before.

SILVERCREST'S POWER COUPLE flashed across the screen again.

My ears started ringing.

The commentator laughed, delighted, his voice bouncing off every wall. "Now that's a winner!"

I stood there and felt something very quiet and very final come apart in my chest.

And then, because my brain apparently had nothing better to do in that moment, it started pulling threads. All the threads I had been leaving alone.

How Ethan had never let me post a photo of us. Publicity ruins things, Lila, you know how these people are. How he, only because I forced his hand once, introduced me to some of his teammates as a friend, even right up until the proposal, and even after it he said let's just keep it between us for now. How I had worn the engagement ring on a chain under my shirt for months because he asked me to. How I had never once sat in the girlfriend section at any of his games.

The velvet box shifted in my bag as someone pushed through me and the stupid thing fell out. I did not even care.

The ringing in my ears got louder and all I could do was watch as Ethan pulled back from the kiss, still smiling, and Trisha tipped her head against his shoulder like punctuation, and the crowd screamed like it was the most romantic thing they had ever seen.

I looked to my hand. The stupid ring had not been on neck tonight. I had put it on my finger because someone at the jewelry store complimented it. I looked like such a fool right now.

I tore it out and tossed it off. I thought it would help.

It did not. The ringing in my ear got worse until it reached a peak and then all the noise rushed back all at once when I finally saw him leave the rink.

It felt like I was being shoved underwater. I moved without thinking, pushing through the stands, ignoring the annoyed protests as I shoved past knees and spilled drinks. My chest burned, my vision blurred, and I kept repeating one thought.

The locker room.

That was where he would go.

I ran down the corridor, heels slamming against concrete, and security tried to block the entrance, but I didn't slow down.

"I'm with Ethan Cole," I snapped, and the authority in my voice surprised even me.

They hesitated, and that was enough.

The hallway smelled like sweat, jockstraps, and rubber. Laughter echoed from inside, music blasting, players shouting over each other. I stepped into the locker room and the celebration hit me full force. Towels flying en masse, someone spraying something fizzy, the floor soaking wet.

I paid that no mind.

There he was.

Ethan stood near his locker, jersey half off, flushed and glowing.

Trisha stood in front of him, too close, her hand resting on his bare chest like it had always belonged there.

"Hey," he murmured to her. "Maybe not here."

She laughed softly. "Relax. Everyone thinks we're perfect together."

My hands started shaking before I even opened my mouth.

"Perfect?" My voice cracked through the room.

Everything stopped. Literally. The music cut, and even conversations died mid-sentence.

Trisha turned slowly, and she didn't look shocked. She looked annoyed.

"Oh, you made it," she said flatly.

Ethan's head snapped up, his eyes widening as they met mine. "Lila?" His voice cracked. "Oh god, Lila, I can explain—"

"Explain?" I spat the word out, tasting bile. "Explain how you're kissing my sister?"

Trisha's face stayed a mask of cool indifference. "Oh, calm down, Lila. You're making a scene."

"A scene?" I laughed, the sound harsh and foreign to my own ears. "You're right, how silly of me to be upset about my boyfriend and my sister—"

Ethan took a step toward me. "It's not what you think."

I stared at him. "Because from where I was standing, it looked exactly like my fiancé kissing my sister on live camera."

Players shifted awkwardly. A few grabbed their things and slipped out.

Trisha crossed her arms. "You're overreacting."

I felt something hot rise in my throat. "They called you Silvercrest's power couple."

Ethan dragged a hand through his hair. "It was for publicity. The team's PR thought—"

"Publicity?" I choked. "You're engaged to me."

Trisha's jaw tightened, and she half laughed. "That engagement was always temporary."

The room tilted slightly, and I blinked. "What?"